A Cup for Every Saucer
by BooksV.Cigarettes
Summary: He chose intellect over human relationships. Most of the time. She chose human relationships over proving how clever she was. Most of the time. They are borne of the same bizarre mould, but each lives their life in a way that bewilders the other. Will what they learn from one another draw them together, or destroy everything? Sherlock/OC


Author: BooksVCigarettes  
Summary: He chose intellect over human relationships. Most of the time. She chose human relationships over proving how clever she was. Most of the time. They are borne of the same bizarre mould, but each lives their life in a way that bewilders the other. Will what they learn from one another draw them together, or destroy everything?  
Rating: Not sure yet.  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the female protagonist.

Chapter 1

X

"I was with her the entire time, nurse. I swear that she had the same to drink as me. She must have been spiked."

_Apart from the fact that she clearly snuck off to the toilet when you weren't looking and hoovered up enough cocaine to fell a Rhinoceros. And I'm a doctor, you imbecile _"And when did she last eat?"

"We had a big meal just before we went out."

_Which she threw up immediately afterward, judging by her teeth and the absence of vomit all over my shoes which would have been here by now were she not a well established bulimic. _

"We don't have any secrets from each other. I know her better than I know myself."

_Poor choice of words. _

She took a deep breath and smiled comfortingly "Go and have a seat in the waiting room. We'll call you if she wakes up."

_Or if the police need to talk to you about the knife you're hiding in your handbag._

_X_

The on-call orthopaedic registrar was sleeping with one of the charge nurses again. Didn't he learn anything from the last time? How his wife put up with it, she'd never know. Slumped at the nurses' station, attempting to finish the paperwork that had gradually piled up over the shift, she instead found herself surreptitiously people watching.

There was a gentle nudge to her shoulder. She turned to find Mark, the staff nurse who thought nobody knew he was gay, looking at her with sympathy and mild affection "Time to clock off. You look like you've been hit by a train."

She managed a half smile and gave him the Vs as she retrieved her coat from under the desk "Enjoy day shift. I saved all the really crazy patients for you."

"Bitch."

X

London in January was foul. There was nothing to recommend it. The cold seemed to collect between the buildings like bitter little eddies in a freezing stream, and find its way into your bones. There seemed to be an incessant drizzle about the place too. She pulled her coat around her as tightly as she could and hurried toward the tube station.

Stepping onto the Central line as the early morning commuters stepped off, she found herself in a near empty carriage with the homeless man that was there every morning and a woman who was on her way home having spent the night in her married lover's bed. Settling herself into a seat, she took the opportunity to study the woman more closely. Recently divorced herself (Suntan ring around the fourth finger), it looked as though she was the one who had been left (rapid weight loss due to stress - her clothes were hanging on her and she had been too depressed to go and buy more), and the lover she had taken had been more out of a need to convince herself that she was still desirable rather than out of genuine attraction (heavy application of makeup to disguise crows' feet and laughter lines, along with a cleavage that was more exposed than not). She looked sad.

She must have sense that she was being stared at. When she looked up and caught the eye of the woman across the carriage with her hair caught up in a messy topknot and the pasty skin of someone who spends sixty hours a week under hospital lighting, she sent her an embarrassed smile and went back to looking at her feet.

When she stood to change trains, she tried to catch the woman's eye again and somehow try to tell her without speaking that things would be alright. She didn't look up.

X

She slept the sleep of the dead. She always did after a long shift. There had been a mug of tea and a cigarette on the balcony before a shower so hot she thought her skin would peel off in order to stop her from leaning against the wall and drifting into unconsciousness. And then sleep. Blissful, uninterrupted slumber.

Until it was time to go back.

"Dr Albright, you're needed in the resuscitation bay!" she smiled with no small hint of irony. It was always a pleasure to hear those words before you even have your coat off.

The resus room was chaotic as usual. Two nurses alternated chest compressions and intubation on a women who had been in a car accident, while a frightened looking foundation doctor drew up syringes of adrenaline with shaking hands. She flashed him a smile "First big arrest?" she kept her voice low so as not to alarm the family members who stood off to the side, their faces a mural of fear and pain. Junior nodded "OK. Do exactly as I tell you."

They worked for over an hour, but as time crept on it became clear that they were not going to win. Eventually they conceded that the campaign had been lost and one by one each machine was switched off, tubes were removed and unseeing eyes were closed in order that the family, who had been relocated to the waiting room, might say their goodbyes. She led them in, a husband and a daughter, to the room where they had tried to help a woman fight her final battle. She expressed her condolences, took the outstretched hand offered by the husband and shook it with as much warmth as she felt appropriate to muster.

She did not expect to see them again. So when they appeared in front of her no more than an hour later at the nurse's station she stared at them momentarily, attempting to contextualise them. The little girl, no older than eight or nine, held out a small ragdoll "Please give this to my mummy. She might be frightened without something she knows."

"I... told her you probably wouldn't be able to." Her father stammered, his eyes red-rimmed and the edges of his words raw with grief "But she insisted that we ask you." she stared at him. He had fought with his wife before she had left the house and had the accident that killed her. Right now, the last conversation he ever had with his wife was replaying over and over in his mind. More than likely it would continue to play for a long time.

Reaching out for the ragdoll, she held the toy to her chest in an embrace to let the little girl know how seriously she took her task "I'll do my best."

X

There was a commotion in the morgue – some high profile serial killer had claimed another victim and the body was to be laid out here. She had caught some of it on the news but it had been a mere fleeting glance. It had been a long time since she had been able to coherently keep abreast of current events.

Unfortunately, this particular current event meant that the dissection room was more highly populated than usual. She spotted Dr Hooper, the sweet little pathologist attempting valiantly to do her job around members of the constabulary as they milled about asking foolish questions. Poor thing, she seemed destined to be invisible. Lingering in the shadows for a moment clutching the ragdoll, she listened as preliminary observations were made about the body.

"Petechial haemorrhaging on the eyeballs and thin marks around the neck – ligature strangulation again," Dr Hooper observed "Some signs of aggressive sexual advances."

"She's younger than the rest," A male voice responded "And better turned out."

"That's because he's doing it for real now." Another male, the voice deeper and more thoughtful. She found herself drawing closer to hear what the voices were saying.

"What do you mean? He was doing it _for real_ before!"

"Think about it," The deeper voice spoke as though it were the most obvious thing in the world "The rest of the victims were prostitutes and junkies. All transient, nomadic people with no friends or family. People who probably wouldn't be missed straight away or _at all_. Until now, it looked as though he was targeting those women because of who they _were_, but in fact..." the pause hung in the air, pregnant and poised. She spoke before she could stop herself.

"-He was targeting them for who they weren't." She suddenly became aware of several pairs of eyes on her and clutched the rag doll slightly tighter "Sorry." She mumbled, desperate to change the subject and get out of there "I just... came to find a patient that came in from the A&E earlier. Adult female, late twenties? Cardiac arrest following a vehicle collision?"

"No please, _do _elaborate." The man who spoke was tall with a shock of dark curly hair that almost fell into eyes that now narrowed in her direction. The thought suddenly occurred to her that the pause he had left had been to create effect and had not required an answer from anyone but himself. She had stolen his thunder, and now he wished to embarrass her. Feeling her face flush, she cleared her throat and tried to keep her voice from sounding indignant.

"He chose previous victims on the basis that they wouldn't be missed, at least not right away. Drug addicts, transients, and prostitutes die all the time and no one really bats an eyelid. More to the point, there's a self-replenishing easily accessible supply of them. The victims that went before were practise for him. He used them to gain confidence in his skills. Presumably you've found he's gotten better at this with each victim?" She cast a glance in the direction of the man who had a detective's posture. He nodded and fuelled by this, she continued "And he didn't take trophies from any of the girls that went before, but he took her earrings." She gestured to the girl on the table. The third man in the room, ex-military from his stance and haircut, took a tongue depressor and moved the dead girl's hair back in order to get a better look at both of her ears.

The detective frowned "How did you know that?"

"Because he didn't need anything from the other victims. He was just practising for when he did it 'for real'." She used air quotes to illustrate her point.

"And how do you know she didn't just lose her earrings in the struggle?"

"Because they've both been ripped out of her ears. It's feasible to say one was lost as she fought him off, but both would be pushing it."

The ex-soldier turned to the tall dark haired man "Is that how you knew, Sherlock?"

The taller man – Sherlock – stared at her from a moment, his ice blue eyes still narrowed in her direction. He rocked on the balls of his feet, posture erect and hands behind his back "Yes." He said finally, the word slipping from his lips like a reluctant child pushed toward disliked relatives. He turned on his heel and began to pace. The detective allowed a small chuckle of disbelief "I didn't think it was possible for the penny to drop for anyone faster than Sherlock Holmes!"

She shifted awkwardly, trying to catch Dr Hooper's eye "Do you think I could see that body now? I'll be really quick, I just want to – um..." She held up the ragdoll. Dr Hooper's expression was one of confusion, then sad realisation "Of course. I'll take you there."

"Thanks." She gave a small nod to the men left standing with the dead girl on the slab and turned to follow Dr Hooper, trying to ignore the several pairs of eyes she felt on her back.


End file.
